


The Shop Owner

by Mari_Knickerbocker



Series: Like Two Ships in the Night [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Don't Blink, Light Angst, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3634146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker/pseuds/Mari_Knickerbocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Angels have the phone box and Martha and the Doctor are 'trapped' in 1969. W-e-l-l not so much trapped as stuck, not even stuck really more like stalled. Any ways there they are at the tail end of the 60's with no transport and strange instructions that suddenly make a whole lot of sense. Now it's up to someone back in 2007 to get them home but what are they to do in the meantime. Someone's got to become the bread winner and bring home the bacon. It's not going to be the Doctor so Martha will have to make do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shop and a Job

**Author's Note:**

> Again the X-Men and Doctor Who are not mine to keep, just loaning them.

It was just Martha and the Doctor traveling amongst the stars……

Or they would be, if they weren’t currently stuck in 1969 without out any transport. Why no TARDIS? Well _someone_ and had to go and let the angels get ahold of the phone box. _Lord, what’s the bloody point knowing something is about to happen if it does absolutely fuck all to prevent it from happening in the first place?_ That was the one question she couldn’t help but ask herself over and over and over again. She didn’t dare ask the Doctor. Firstly because she already knew his answer and secondly because Martha was in no mood to hear a lecture on cause and effect and how time wasn’t a fluctuating ripple effect in the strictest of senses but more of a conglomeration of things happening. It was enough to have watched and listened as he made the video for the DVD easter egg. _Wibbly wobbly, time-y wimey?!? For Christ sake you’re a_ **bleeding** _Time Lord and that was the best you could come up with; time-y wimey?!”_

It was ridiculous, it was juvenile, possibly even – no – positively infantile and it was absolutely bloody _priceless_. A gem to be hoarded and treasured. There was no doubt, in her mind, that Martha was going to do just that. She would savor it and then she would whip it out whenever he least expected it but was in the most desperate need of being humbled. Which, sadly, (as far as Martha was concerned) wasn’t all that often, all things considered. For although things had an alarmingly bad habit of going tits up wherever they went it was usually due to some dunderhead who failed to listen to the Doctor’s advice. Rarely was the Doctor ever at fault, well, at least directly.

It was a rarity, seeing him wrong footed; and really in the grand scheme of things a bit of poor word choice wasn’t all **that** awful. (Which eased Martha’s conscious a bit about her plans to tweak his nose. She planned to do this as often as she could manage it; paying no attention to his protests).

Honestly, being stuck in 1969 wasn’t awful. It could be worse at least she wasn’t stuck in 1913 a maid in a boarding school with a bunch of privileged boys. _If I never do that again it would be too soon._ She liked the clothing and she enjoyed the music. She had a suspicion she would like the night life too but had been warned off of straying into any of the infamous hot sports. It wouldn’t do any good for her to bump into either younger versions of her grandparents or her parents. That could create a paradox : _and we shan’t have any of those now!_ Never mind the fact that they were basically in one right now. This Sparrow girl had given them their little packet of instructions months ago; and the Doctor (showing remarkable restraint for him) refused to look inside the entire time. Martha had bugged, cajoled, and downright nagged him about the plastic envelope periodically since they received it. He would hem and haw, shuffle his feet and tell her that they couldn’t ‘just take a peak’ because it wasn’t the ‘proper time’. They’d have themselves a little row then move on the envelope forgotten until Martha would bring it up again.

It just so happens that Martha was holding on to the wretched thing – waving it about tauntingly in the Doctor’s face while he backed out of the TARDIS – when they were zapped back into the past. After a moment of profound befuddlement he had snatched the envelope out of her hands and dived into it, nearly ripping it in two and spilling all its contents with his haste.

“Oh now you want to know what’s in the bloody thing!?”

“Well now’s the proper moment!”

Thus started their extended sojourn in the waning days of the sixties; and once they figured out what they needed to be doing things began to run a bit smoother, if not smoothly. The main issue they faced now was keeping their heads down long enough for Sally Sparrow to work out things on her end. They had no way of known how long they’d be stuck in 1969 sans TARDIS before Sparrow would put two and two together and come up with the Doctor. Looked like things on her end only encompassed one whole day, but that could easily be two months for them! (Because supposedly in addition to being wibbly wobbly and time-y wimey; time wasn’t going to move at the same rate for the folks in 2007 proper and them in 1969). That meant they needed some means of supporting themselves which in turn meant Martha needed to get a job. Work, normal work of normal everyday _ordinary_ people was beneath the Doctor’s notice apparently. That meant Martha was going to be the one working while the Doctor finagled together some sort of device that was allegedly meant to help them detect any other poor souls deposited in the 60’s by the angels.

Martha got a job in a shop. 

Not your everyday run-of-the-mill type shop, though. No, this place was a tad bit more irregular. It was a rare bookstore during the daylight hours and in the evening it transformed into a cozy hole-in-the-wall pub. The only comparison Martha could think for it was a modern day Barnes and Noble with its little Starbucks– only hard liquor and beer instead of coffee and tea (although they served those things as well). There was nothing about its exterior that indicated what could be found inside. It was just a corner shop at the end of long row of shops with a weathered sign reading: 

_**P. Avery’s Rarities** _

Martha probably wouldn’t have thought to apply for a position there based on appearances alone, but it was the only place in this particular corner of London – the Doctor didn’t want to wander too far from where the Weeping Angel had sent them; he’d thought there was a good chance of a younger him floating about – that was currently looking to hire. Reluctantly she’d gone into the place and the help wanted sign from out front in her hand. She hoped that whoever was the owner of this establishment did not take any exceptions to her; like they had back in 1913.

She walked in on the pub side of the shop and hovered just inside the doorway, confused and uncertain. She had thought the place was an antique store, judging from the sign. It was rather poorly lighted in the place and she took the time to allow her eyes to adjust.

“Pub doesn’t open for three more hours, luv,” a cheerful voice called out from some unseen corner, “come on into the shop proper.”

Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, Martha noticed that by the end of the bar there was a pocket door one half left open in invitation. She crossed the room and stepped through that to find herself in the type of shop she’d first imagined. There was brighter in this half of the building and the space was crammed tight with bookcases stretching floor to ceiling and their shelves groaning under the weight of the collection they held.

“Can I help you dear,” the voice from before inquired politely.

Martha turned to find herself face to face with a woman not much older than herself.

“Ah, yes I’d like to speak to the manager.” She’d faltered through the statement and it sounded more like a question than the confident declaration she had wanted to voice.

“Speaking,” the woman replied a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, my name’s Martha Jones, I‘m here about the job.”

She’d gotten the position and although she initially didn’t care for the idea of working at a shop (she was studying to become a doctor after all) she discovered she didn’t mind so much after getting to know her employer. 

Piper Avery was a delightfully eccentric woman who had inherited the place from an equally oddball uncle with the same initials. She’d never seen any reason to change the sign out front when she first got the place and even when she had acquired the building next door, renovated and put in the pub, she still didn’t think it needed changing. Piper was into the counter culture scene but not obnoxiously so. She refused to follow the current trends in fashion sticking to a wardrobe that mostly consisted of blue jeans, band t-shirts and the occasional flowy blouse. She’d kept her golden hair long, cascaded in loose curls down the length of her back. She often ended up pulling it back into a messy bun secured by a pair of decorative chop sticks, multiple pencils or pens and on one memorable occasion the shops letter opener. She didn’t wear a lot of jewelry and the pieces she did have were mostly silver or turquoise gems in a silver setting.

Piper would pour a patron a drink anytime of the day, claiming that the business hours for the pub were really nothing more than a suggestion. She’d pour them out whatever it was they’d order then with a wink and a cheeky grin she’d pour herself a shot of whiskey and down it without a warning. The woman must have had the tolerance to rival Dioysus the Greek god of wine for no matter how many shots she had (and Martha had seen her put down a fair few) she never appeared drunk. Not even a little dazed.

There was always a kettle of tea on the boil, ready for anyone who might require the bracing effects of a good cuppa. Piper, herself, could often be found with her black Chuck Taylor trainers propped up on the desk book in hand and a cup of tea cooling at her elbow. If Martha didn’t already know she would have never guessed that Piper was the owner.

Martha had no idea how Piper managed to make ends meet or how she could afford to stock both the book shop and the pub. As for how she managed to supply Martha and the two other employees with weekly wages; well that was an utter mystery.

The place never seemed to generate any revenue. (At least not to the standards Martha expected with her skewed perspective as a woman from nearly forty years in the future). Their main source of patrons came from the local University students; who never seemed to have any money on them. Not that Piper was all that strict about charging them. Most of the money came from pub business the bookstore didn’t contribute much, as far as Martha could tell. They may not have had a lot of sells but that did not mean the books went unnoticed or unused.

The students seemed to think the place was nothing more than an extension of the university’s library and they treated it as such. They would come in pull a volume down from its shelf find an empty pub table and loose themselves to whatever narrative contained therein. Martha restocked the shelves after the students had gone for the day; she knew what treasures those wooden bookcases held. Many of those volumes, so carelessly tossed about, would fetch a small fortune or more in a modern market. It physically pained her at times to see the way those kids treated them. The least of their infractions was using a book as a glorified paperweight, the worst ranged from leaving a watermark from a cup of tea to illegible hand writing in the margins.

She had brought up her concerns to Piper, who listened sagely to Martha’s cool and collected, logically appointed argument (alright so it was a raving rant) without batting an eyelid. Once Martha finished she had patted her consoling on the back and promptly ignored everything she’d just said.

“C’mon Piper, you can’t be so cavalier about this.”

“They’re students Martha, and these are books. Books are meant to be read and used not coddled. They can weather a little abuse, luv, gives ‘em character.”

Martha couldn’t help but think how Piper and the Doctor – were they to ever meet – would get on like a house fire. _It’s a good thing_ himself _thinks working in a shop is beneath him._ Martha was positive that she could not survive the two of them meeting. She feared she’d be out a traveling partner then well and truly stuck in the past; left behind to become a proper victim of the Weeping Angels. Martha fervently wished that the Doctor never suddenly felt the need to go and visit her while she worked.

She should have known better to leave well enough alone and **not** count her chickens before they hatched.


	2. Busted...w-e-l-l sort of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DI Shipton joins them in 1969 and Martha finds out that Piper might just already know the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll recognize some dialogue from the episode "Bink"; it's not mine, it's Moffats.

“Martha, Martha!” An exited man’s voice called out for her. She closed her eyes in exasperation. Of course he would have to come looking for her while she was at work. She quickly finished shelving the last of the books from that afternoon’s student crowd then turned around to motion him over.

“Martha, my machine that goes ‘ding’ when there’s stuff,” he began hurriedly crowding her. She motioned for him to keep his voice down but Mister Observant paid no attention to her. “Guess what it just did!”

“It went ding?” She asked unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“It dinged!” He exclaimed completely ignoring her words. “There I was just minding my own business and all of a sudden it …..Wait a minute, how did you know it dinged?”

He looked at her both perplexed and suspicious but genuinely confused. She had to shake her head; sometimes she just couldn’t reconcile the legend of the Time Lord with the reality. With a sigh and a slightly patronizing fond smile she replied;

“You call it a machine that goes ‘ding’. I just assumed that it would do as it says on the tin.”

“Good assumption, quite correct too,” he applauded her, “but best be careful not to make too many assumptions. You know what they say about assumptions” –

“They make an arse out of you and me,” she ventured gamely.

“Exactly. Wait is that really what they say? That’s not very nice, rather rude now that I think about it. A saying shouldn’t be rude it should be informative but quirky” –

“You were telling me about the dinging.” Martha prompted him when it looked like the Doctor was prepared to follow that particular tangent to its untimely and ludicrous end.

“Yes the dinging! The time- wimey detector went ding which means that there was stuff happening and we have to go track it down quickly,” he informed her grabbing her hand and tugging her towards the door.

“That’s great but I’m still on the clock,” she reminded him removing her hand from his grasp. He came to a stuttering stop then turned and looked at her sheepishly. 

“Uhm, could you maybe skive off,” he asked rubbing at his neck.

“No, I don’t think so not if you want to eat.”

“Martha this is important!”

“Alright, just go outside and wait for me,” Martha told him pushing him towards the door. 

The Doctor flashed her a smile then left eagerly. Martha rolled her eyes, amused despite herself. She went looking for Piper to let her know that she needed to leave early. The one time she needed to find the woman and she wasn’t in her customary spot behind the bar. Knowing that the Doctor wouldn’t wait outside for long before he would come bursting back into the shop demanding her presence. Chewing her lip in indecision for a moment she debated how best to handle the situation; she didn’t want to get sacked (she did not know how much longer she would need the job) but ,if the detector was dinging than that meant things were moving along in 2007 and they might be leaving sooner rather than later. Martha finally decided to just leave. Hopefully Piper would not notice her sudden disappearance. The woman did not seem to notice much that went on sometimes. Martha often thought that she could come in starkers with her knickers on her head and Piper wouldn’t blink twice.

She walked out the door and found him waiting impatiently in the middle of the sidewalk. The minute he saw her he smiled quirked an eyebrow and said;

“Run.”

So they ran following the random dings from his little makeshift detector until it lead them to a man with a dazed and confused expression that Martha had come to associate with virgin time travelers. The poor thing barely had a moment to process what had just happened to him before the Doctor was explaining everything in his rapid fire way.

“Welcome!”

“Where am I?”

“1969. Not as bad as it goes. You’ve got the moon landing to look forward to.”

“Oh, the moon landing’s brilliant.” Martha interjected unable to help herself. “We went four times, back when we had transport.” She gave the Doctor a pointed look at that.

“Working on it!”

“How did I get here?” The new comer asked.

“Same way we did. Touch of an angel. Probably the same one since you ended up in the same year. No, no, no don’t get up. Time travel without a capsule. Nasty. “

The Doctor explained everything to DI Billy Shipton, well now former detective inspector, but the man was still having a hard time grasping what had just happened to him.

“You know this would all go down better with a drink,” Billy suggested. Martha wondered if he just wanted to get drunk so he could ignore everything; make himself believe it was a hallucination brought on by too much drink and not enough sense. If that was indeed his plan than he was going to have an even ruder awakening come morning.

“Do you know if there’s a pub around here?”

The Doctor looked up at Martha and she stifled a groan. Of course her place of employment would be the only pub nearby. _Might as well go there and get it over with, I’ll have to face the music with Piper sooner or later._ If she was going to end up sacked she might best get it over with quickly.

“Yeah, I know of place.” She offered helping DI Shipton to stand.

The three of them trounced off towards _**P. Avery’s Rarities**_ ; Martha in the lead. It had started drizzling while they talked and now things were picking up in intensity and now the rain were really coming down. She’d be happy to get in out of the wet if she did not already fell like there was some impending doom looming over her head. Which was ridiculous, really, she was only facing a potential sacking from a job that she was going to have to leave unexpectedly anyways. The only person out of their little group who was well and truly ‘doomed’ is the DI. He had no choice but to live out the rest of his life in the past; ripped away from all he knew. He was left disjointed in a different time to make a new life for himself. Martha did not envy him.

Nor did she envy the Doctor the task of informing Shipton why he had to remain left behind once the TARDIS was returned to them. She had a suspicion that that was why the Doctor was going along with the man’s request for a pub and a drink. _Allow him to get safely inebriated then spring the truly bad news on him._ Martha could see the strategy in that plan, what’s more she could follow it.

Sometimes, taking a cowardly approach – when it came to certain moments in life – proved more effective than bravery.

They reached the pub and Martha ushered the men in. Once inside Piper’s establishment she guided the boys towards one of the more secluded tables. They ended up tucked up in at a back coroner table that was partially blocked off from the rest of the room by the back staircase. Piper lived in the floors above her shop; she had been known to allow those who had just a tad bit too much fun sleep it off in one of her spare rooms. 

After getting the Time Lord and Detective Inspector settled, Martha ducked behind the bar to get them their drinks; a Guinness for Shipton and herself and a non-alcoholic beer for the Doctor. She had yet to see Piper since coming back and she began to wonder where the woman had disappeared too. It was unusual for her to be this absent from the place. Piper was always somewhere in the shop or the pub, a comfortable steadying presence always felt if not seen. The pub wasn’t even crowded; there was just their normal baker’s dozen of regulars and a few groupings of new faces. For which Martha was grateful, the smattering of patrons would allow them to discuss things in relative quiet. There was enough cheerful chatter in the place that they had no reason to worry about being overheard; nor did they have to worry about not being able to hear each other.

“Get these down ya,” was said as she put the drinks in front of them.

Billy took a long pull on his pint before setting it down glaring at the Doctor.

“You want to run by me everything you just said in the alleyway again.” It was a statement not a question. He was treating the conversation as if it was an interrogation that would help him to crack a major case. 

Martha admired him for his pluck. It was good for the Doctor to have to persuade people to his see things his way. Far too often he’d make a big proclamation and everyone else would just fall into line. She figured that if he got too use to having things go his way he’d be unbearable. The Doctor was always straddling the line between reasonable pride and towering arrogance. Martha feared what kind of man he might become if he suddenly felt that rules no longer applied to him. That’s why she actively sought out things she could use to puncture his ego and remind him to stay grounded. 

“Certainly, which part didn’t you understand?”

“Start at the beginning and we’ll go from there. Who are you again and how did I suddenly pop up in 1969?”

“He’s the Doctor,” Martha supplied, “we’re travelers.”

“Thank you Martha; l as I was saying the Weeping Angels,” the Doctor began cheerfully enough. “Only psychopaths in the universe – in reality actually – who kill you nicely. Rather polite about the whole business now that I think about, no fuss, no mess. One touch from them and zap you’re somewhere in the past and allowed to live out your life. You’ll die in the past while in the present they feed off of the energy from the life you might have lived. They live off of potential energy “–

“Are you trying to tell me that the life I thought I had is no more?”

“W-e-l-l,” he vacillated, “I suppose that’s one way to look at things. Another way to see things is now you have a fresh start, a bit of a do over really. Like the song says ‘always look on the bright side of life’ like that song, such a lovely message, gets a tad hokey after a while but still brilliant concept.”

“That is an Earth song, right?” He asked in a stage whisper to Martha that really wasn’t much of a whisper.

“Yes it is, it’s from Monty Python,” she reassured him. 

“O yes, Monty Python swell bunch of blokes, very funny them.” He looked at Shipton then and gave him a winning smile, “You’ll get to the watch them from the very beginning.”

“Well that’s a silver lining.” Shipton snapped back, very clearly unamused. The Doctor’s smile faltered at that. 

“I am sorry, so, so, sorry.” He offered as if an apology was enough of a consolation. At this point it was the only one the Doctor had for him.

“Never mind all that,” Billy brushed off the apology. “What did you mean before when you said I had to take a message to Sally?”

“Ah yes, about that,” he started taking one deep breath preparing to dive in. He had just opened his mouth to start orating again when a familiar voice interrupted:

“Would you care for a refill?”

They looked up guiltily to find Piper leaning against the staircase her hands stuck into her front pockets, head tilted to the left a quizzical expression on her face as she gave them the side eye.

“Bit of advice,” she continued smoothly wholly indifferent to the wary looks she received. “If you’re going to go one about time travel and Weeping Angels best do it with a little more privacy than what you find in a pub.”

Martha stiffened; they were found out and by her boss no less. Her gaze shifted back and forth between the Doctor and Piper waiting for the next shoe to drop. The Doctor watched Piper a perplexed expression on his face, like the one you’d get upon seeing a familiar face but was having difficulty placing it.

“Oh, hello,” he greeted Piper his expression settling into one of jovial acquaintanceship. 

“Hello yourself,” Piper replied a quirk of her lips and a lifted eyebrow betraying her amusement.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Were else would I be?” She retorted favoring him with another side eye that was politely sardonic. “Besides I’m pretty sure that should be my line.”

“W-e-l-l, maybe, maybe not.”

Piper chuckled at that then motioned for the rest of them to follow her. She led them up the stairs and into a small sitting room furnished with lovingly broken in leather furniture. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves equally stuffed as the ones below. _Surprise, surprise._ Martha knew that Piper was a bibliophile of the highest caliber, she would have been disappointed if the woman’s private collection did not rival the collection in the shop. In addition to books these shelves held little tokens and mementos that could tell the story of the life lived by their owner if one had the time to peruse them.

“Have a seat,” she instructed with a vague wave of her arm indicating the two chairs and sofa. She moved over to a sidebar and busied herself with fixing them all a new drink.

The Doctor and DI Shipton took the two chairs leaving Martha to settle herself on the couch. Piper passed out the drinks, there mulled amber glow indicating that she had poured them each a tumbler of whiskey. _Damn good whiskey,_ Martha thought judging the spirit by its color. She took a small cautious sip out of her glass and immediately felt the smooth bite of well-aged liquor.

The Doctor took his with a smile of thanks then promptly set it down on a nearby end table.

“How do you know about the Weeping Angels?” He asked Piper as she settled herself on to the arm of the couch on the opposite end from Martha.

She took a sip or two before answering him. When she finally did, she recited in a sing-song voice;

“Medusa and a teleportor sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g….”

Piper was mocking him but her face was deadly serious.

“Is that how they became Quantum Locked? It explains so much! No wonder they turn to stone when somebody sees them if there children of Medusa,” he went off on a rant seizing upon the implications of her little poem and running with it. “Medusa and a Teleportor you say, no wonder they zap people back in time. I wonder if” –

“Hell Doctor,” Piper interrupted him tartly, “it’s just speculation. Another rumor about the Lonely Assassins and how they came to be, I have no way of knowing if it’s true or not. Not like I was there personally.”

Martha gaped at the woman.

“Close your mouth dear, you’re not a fish.” The woman suggested amusement clear in her tone.

“Who know these people?” Billy demanded no longer content to sit back and just accept what was going on.

“Irrelevant,” came the answer with a dismissive wave of her hand, “What matters now is that you need a place to stay and a job to help you get on your feet. You can stay here, I’ve got enough room, in fact the lot of you might as well go ahead and stay here; then you can have her job once she’s gone.”

As far as offers went it wasn’t the most diplomatic, bit tyrannical really, and Shipton was not the most gracious about accepting it. Still, she helped him to get settled into 1969 and his new life whilst giving the Doctor and Martha a place to stay that was a big step up from their last set of accommodations. Living in the same place gave the Doctor plenty of time to speak with Billy and explain to him what he needed to do. It also gave Shipton the time and space to adjust. Martha often found the woman listening while the DI raved at her about the unfairness of the situation he finally found himself in and the Doctor’s refusal to take him back once they recovered the phone box.

“He just won’t do it! Why won’t he take me back, is it spite?”

“My dear boy,” Piper would sooth him, “if you’re to go back with the Doctor and Martha then who will be left to tell Sally what needs to be done. Who will make sure that video gets placed on those film disk thingies, those DVDs?”

“Couldn’t you do it?”

“I shouldn’t think so, luv. We already know from that packet it was you who pointed the girl in the right direction. I don’t think she’d be inclined to believe an old woman she’d never met before telling her such things.”

“You can be very insistent Piper.”

“Humph, pull the other one. Why don’t you tell me what’s _really_ gnawing at your tail?” 

“I’ll never see that gorgeous girl again! Not until am I old and dying, it’s just not right. It isn’t _**fair**_ _!!_ ”

When the time came for them to leave Martha found herself reluctant to go. There was the TARDIS materializing in front of them and there was Martha part of her wishing she could stay behind. She’d had a lot to be grateful for, without Piper’s help she did not know how they would have weathered this minor setback. The woman had given her a job when she needed it, then she’d taken in Shipton as well as Martha and the Doctor without a second thought.

Billy, if not completely adjusted to his fate, was beginning to accept what had happen to him and to look at as a fresh start. He even did not seem to mind that his future career had already been dictated, said he always liked films and looked forward to getting involved in the business. They had Piper to thank for the man’s change of heart. All the time she spent with Shipton went a long way towards helping him adjust. 

“Well that’s us we’ll be heading off now,” the Doctor announced unnecessarily. He had a fondness for redundancy sometimes; Martha had to wonder where he’d picked up that habit.

“Safe travels,” Piper wished them and meant it. Inexplicably she managed to keep a straight face. “Feel free to look me up sometime in the future. Wouldn’t mind bumping into you lot again.”

At that the TARDIS finished materializing around them and they were reunited with that lovely, temperamental blue box.

“Oh, hello lovely! Did you miss me? I certainly missed you?” The Doctor exclaimed taking in the control panel with the fondness of an old friend.  
“Where too next Martha,” he asked and she smiled knowing just the place.

…..

The place was still there, the sign was the same and it was still a pub but no longer a shop. The general atmosphere had changed, however. It no longer felt like a cozy extension of one’s own home, was no longer a quiet little hole-in-the-wall place. Now it was a mainstream hotspot. Martha found her lip curling in distaste. It was no longer Piper Avery’s. In fact, Martha could not picture the woman condoning the changes made; it was no longer her kind of place.

“She must have sold it,” she murmured almost to herself.

“She’d be an old woman now Martha, if she’s even still alive.” The Doctor remarked, “Did you really expect to walk in and see her still here.”

“I’m not sure what I expected.” Martha admitted.

“C’mon, there’s a meteorite shower in the colors of the rainbow only happens about once in five thousand years; we could catch it if we hurry.”

“Yeah,” she agreed turning to him with smile, “that sounds amazing.”

“ _Allons-y!_ ”

They did not notice the woman in the faded jeans and vintage leather bomber jacket watching them with eyes crinkled in mirth an affectionate smile playing about her lips.


End file.
